The Cheetah Clan Chronicles- Fallout Edition (Incomplete)
by TheCheetahClanChronicles
Summary: This is sort of a test of FanFiction, with an almost-complete story made by me and a friend, Gabe Day. This story sort of stalled out, and suggestions for how to continue or end it are strongly accepted. Credit will be given where it is due for continuation and ending ideas.


The Cheetah Clan Chronicles -Fallout Edition (INCOMPLETE)

Special thanks to Gabe Day for working on this with me!

* I have left this story unfinished, as we both ran out of ideas. Plot continuations and ideas will be helpful, and credit will be given where it is due.*

CH.1- A-Mauling We Will Go  
It was another day for Cheetawolf. He stretched in bed and got up at around 5:00 AM, his usual time. However, this time was special. He was getting a new, high-priority, high-paying contract. This high-risk, triple-S ranked job would get him 15,000 Caps, that is, if he could survive. Cheetawolf's manager, a former assassin known as Cheetah-cougar, Cheetawolf's mentor, handed him a slip of paper containing an address, precise location on the globe, and a time to meet someone. Cheetawolf always requested down-to-the-foot latitudinal and longitudinal coordinates, because he was one of the most precise assassins out there. This someone, his target, would be Courier 7, also known as Hell on Legs and by the name Cheetabadger.  
Cheetabadger, at about this time, was exiting Vault 34, with a package of classified materials, as printed on the box, to ship from one end of the former USA, which was now a radioactive wasteland, to the other.  
_Well, another job and more money for me_, Cheetabadger cheerfully thought. Cheetabadger was a strong, stocky man of 38. He towered over most anyone at 7 feet, three inches. They say he was born mutated, and that caused his ludicrous height and strength. He was able to use a .50 caliber machine gun like an assault rifle. Heck, he could even easily dual-wield the machine guns if he wanted to, and barely break a sweat in doing so.  
Cheetawolf was, on the other hand, 6 feet four inches, thin, somewhat strong, and rather pale most of the time. He was only twenty years old, but he had many implants put into him to give him amazing knowledge and memory, the processing power of 3 supercomputers, and what should have been nearly superhuman endurance. They say he grew up on the New Vegas Strip. Cheetawolf was born with a chronic sickness that is currently unknown, and he is rather sickly most of the time, with sudden relapses that can occasionally render him useless for a few minutes. Cheetawolf had more implants put into him which made his disease much more manageable, but it was still a nuisance to him, and the disease countered his endurance implants, making him just average in that category.  
Cheetawolf got onto his vehicle of choice, a rather knackered motorcycle. Thanks to Cheetawolf's extreme fondness for working with and modifying vehicles and mechanical things, the engine was modified to run on something simple, yet essential for most peoples' lives- Whiskey. However, Cheetawolf couldn't drink alcohol without having an extreme relapse that had the potential to kill him on the spot, so he had no use for alcohol aside from a cheap fuel. The engine sputtered, backfired, and finally started up. Cheetawolf, going off of his amazingly good memory, set off to that precise point on a map he looked at back at his manager's office. Cheetawolf sped off, hoping for the best as he raced after Cheetabadger.  
After two hours of travelling, he arrived at the smoldering wreckage of Vault 34. There were corpses of giant lizards and feral ghouls all over the ground, all of them riddled with holes by high-caliber bullets. However, Cheetabadger was nowhere to be found.  
'Crap", Cheetawolf said to himself, "I'm too late". Cheetawolf coughed rather violently, due to his illness that seemed to never go away, and sped off once more, following some boot prints in the radioactive sand.  
About twenty miles away, Cheetabadger steadily marched on, hoping make as good time as possible. Turning, he noticed a small dust cloud slowly growing in the distance.  
"shit," said Cheetabadger, " I'm on the job for six hours and already someone's trying to kill me again."  
Cheetabadger then turned towards his destination and broke into a dead sprint.  
Back about 18 miles, Cheetawolf's motorcycle stalled. Cheetawolf looked at the fuel gauge. Dead empty. Cheetawolf sighed and abandoned his only true friend in the sand and started walking towards the small dot on the horizon.  
Up ahead, Cheetabadger was running out of wind. He slowed to a walk again, breathing heavily in his hot armor. _You'd think that a 10,000 cap armor set would be lighter than this…_ Cheetabadger thought. _Then again it is just a customized set of reinforced combat armor, even though I personally requested the lightest and strongest materials available. The Gun Runners must have skimped on the materials again, damn cheapskates. _Cheetabadger got the image of slicing the Gun Runners' throats slowly and painfully out of his head and continued on.  
Eventually, night fell, and it dropped to a rather chilly 40 degrees fahrenheit outside. Cheetabadger decided to hole up in the warm sand for the night. He dug a hole in the still-warm sand, took off his armor, and lay down in the sand bed, covering it with a fairly well-blended sand-covered tarp.  
Cheetawolf continued walking. He didn't mind the cold. He had worked for 36 hours straight in the middle of an arctic winter before without even getting _near_tired, and had been genetically designed for even longer than that, so this was no problem for him. He continued walking for miles, and walked right past the tarp. Cheetawolf has been genetically modified for many different traits, including the astonishing ability to pick up not only visible light, but heat and aura, or life energy, with his eyes as well, along with enhanced night vision that any owl would be jealous of. Exactly 3 feet past it, he abruptly stopped. The tracks had suddenly disappeared, and. He spun around on his heel and felt the sand where the tracks stopped. There was a plastic tarp there, and there was lots of heat and a slightly menacing aura emanating from underneath it. He slowly peeled the tarp back to find himself staring down the barrel of Cheetabadger's .45 pistol.

Ch.2—RUN!  
Cheetawolf instantly dropped the tarp and ran. Cheetawolf had the clear advantage over speed with Cheetabadger (and most other men), but not with Cheetabadger's bullets. Bullets kicked up the sand near Cheetawolf's feet as he sprinted towards Arizona's border.  
Eventually, Cheetawolf managed to escape the range of Cheetabadger's sidearm, all the while Cheetabadger was yelling after him, "keep running, pussy!". Cheetawolf also had enhanced hearing, and he clearly heard that, even at nearly half a mile away through the wind and his own breathing.  
Minutes later, Cheetawolf finally stopped running, wheezing worse than a chain smoker.  
_Son of a bitch, that's the guy I am supposed to kill?!_ He thought, _how am I going to do that? This is a suicide mission, isn't it?_  
Miles behind, Cheetabadger packed up his equipment and started tracking Cheetawolf, singing an old tune to himself,  
"You can run on for a long time  
Run on for a long time  
Run on for a long time,  
Sooner or later God is going to cut you down."  
As he sang, he unzipped a duffel bag he carried with him and withdrew an anti-material rifle and chambered a .50 handload, custom-made by WolfCraft Equipment Co, the world leader in equipment and weapon manufacturing and distribution, and continued following the trail of boot prints towards Arizona.  
Miles ahead, Cheetawolf decided to find a position to ambush the hulking beast of a killer following him. Soon after, Cheetawolf was lying prone with his trusty hunting rifle in hand, watching for any hint of his target. As if out of nowhere, a thunderous crack echoed somewhere on the left, and a large-caliber round tore through the hunting rifle, rendering it useless as it splintered in Cheetawolf's face. Cheetawolf almost immediately rolled behind the sand dune, as another two rounds plowed through the sand inches from his head.  
Half a mile away, Cheetabadger looked up from his rifle, grimacing as he noticed he missed his target. Stashing his duffel bag and rifle, he stood up and began marching towards Cheetawolf's sand dune, a 12.7 millimeter SMG in his left hand and his pistol in the other hand.  
After wiping the sand and broken bits out of his eyes, Cheetawolf peered above the dune, he saw the armored giant marching towards him. He drew a 10mm SMG of his own and immediately opened fire, only to watch in horror as the rounds hit his target, only to harmlessly bounce off. Cheetawolf had no choice but to fall back on his last resort-the precision-manufactured biomechanical wings wings that had been genetically implanted into him in an effort to make the perfect silent killer. He unfurled them and spread them in under a second. They were a pitch black with a red opalescence (which was actually a coating similar to the paint on today's stealth fighters, to scatter or absorb most types of ground-to-air tracking system signals), made of long artificial feathers on the trailing edge, short feathers in the area between the leading and trailing edges, and what seemed to be some kind of artificial wolf's fur on the leading edge. Cheetawolf jumped up and flapped furiously, climbing vertically at an amazing speed. However, disaster struck. Cheetabadger, "Spraying-and-Praying" at this point, scored a lucky hit right on the shaft, the weakest part of the wing assembly, the part connecting wing and body. The 12.7 millimeter bullets cut through a nerve controlling how the wing moved. A searing pain arced up Cheetawolf's spine as he fell back to earth, using his last good wing to cushion his fall. Amazingly, the fragile wing was undamaged in the impact. As he stood up, he drew his pistol and fired. Cheetabadger fired back. This firefight lasted for about 30 seconds and then, simultaneously, they both ran out of ammunition. Switching to melee combat mode, Cheetawolf drew his sword, made of a matte black mix of various metals with a solid diamond cutting edge for maximum durability, and charged, However, Cheetabadger drew a 12-inch bolo machete and stopped Cheetawolf's sword cold. Cheetabadger raised the machete and Cheetawolf moved out of the way just in time, but Cheetabadger still managed to sever Cheetawolf's already-crippled wing, which was busy just sitting there, drooping at an awkward angle. Cheetawolf, unable to move or feel the wing at this point, barely flinched. Then, Cheetawolf scored a direct hit on Cheetabadger's chest plate, a swing that would normally cut 5 people in a row clean in half. The sword bounced off the armor as well with a loud _Ping!_, but it put a fairly large dent in it. Cheetabadger thought, _who is this guy? Nobody's ever been able to even scratch this armor, let alone actually damage it! _However, the thought nothing of it again, and took another swing at Cheetawolf. Cheetawolf barely managed to evade a slash through the neck. Cheetawolf also had a reinforced right arm bone, fifty times stronger than any human bone, 10 times stronger than any of Cheetabadger's, for the purpose of blocking melee attacks, and he finally managed to stop Cheetabadger's machete with it. They both tried to get the upper hand, but it was finally a stalemate. If Cheetabadger let go, it would give Cheetawolf a clean shot at his neck, and if Cheetawolf went for Cheetabadger, then Cheetabadger would cut him to bits, literally.  
After fifteen seconds, Cheetawolf finally spoke, "your move."  
"You first, asshole."  
"Now I see why they want you dead."  
"Who hired you?"  
"Don't know, all I got was a letter."  
"Sure, same way all I got was a note to carry a package."  
"To where?"  
"Some shit hole in the Midwest, the package had 'classified' stamped on the box."  
"Judging by your description of the note and your package, I would say you were hired by... The Brotherhood of Steel."  
"Wow, that's some impressive brain power for such a young runt like you. I guess either the legion or the NCR hired you, but the NCR are allies of the Brotherhood, so that asshole Lanius hired you."  
"I am privately hired and managed. Who is this Lanius?"  
"Antonio Lanius, current Leader of Caesar's Legion, after a friend of mine offed his boss and convinced him to run like a scared girl."  
"Drop your sword."  
"First, it's called a machete, second, you first."  
"And if I did?"  
"I have a business proposition for you."  
"Fine. As long as it doesn't involve me being ruthlessly torn to little bitty pieces, let me hear it." Cheetawolf lowered his now-bloodied arm, sheathed his sword, which only had a bit of paint scratched off of the diamond edge, and tried to fold up his undamaged wing. However, in his previous crash, something had become dislocated and it jammed up the whole thing. It made a sort of grinding noise and got stuck halfway, looking horribly broken. Cheetawolf fell onto the wing, and it made a loud snap and unfolded again. This time, it folded up perfectly again, all the while Cheetabadger watching him with a "What the fuck _IS_ this guy?!" look on his face. Cheetabadger sheathed his machete, and spoke.  
"If the legion wants you to try to kill me, then they want you dead. The road I take travels through flagstaff, the capital. If you join with me to complete this trip, then we can stop off in flagstaff, and then paint the town red with the blood of the legion."  
"Deal."  
"Let's go then."  
Cheetabadger retrieved his rifle and duffel bag, Cheetawolf retrieved his broken wing, and they set off, all the while watched by a pair of eyes off in the distance.  
Ch.3—Hydra and a stalker  
Halfway to their destination of flagstaff, Cheetawolf and Cheetabadger, now fairly good friends, were chatting cheerfully.  
"Oh man, do I need a drink…" Cheetabadger moaned.  
Cheetawolf replied, "There is a lake nearby that I see on this map. Follow me."  
"No, I mean a beer or something!"  
Cheetawolf sighed and then coughed. "Well, I'm thirsty too… might as well top up on water while we have the chance. My canteen is running on the low side…"  
"Same here", Cheetabadger said, looking at his transparent plastic canteen, which was about quarter-full and had grains of dirt and other broken bits at the bottom.  
Cheetabadger agreed and they went north-northeast about 3 miles to the lake. The water was a deep blue at the lake. For some reason, Cheetawolf was carrying his severed wing. "I hope to get it fixed", he said to Cheetabadger.  
"I don't think the Legion has any plastic surgeons." Cheetabadger said. "However, they do have Hydra, a drug that is supposed to repair limbs. The Legion uses it to repair just about anything that gets blown off, including THOSE."  
"Enough with the dirty jokes, Cheetabadger!" Cheetawolf said.  
"But they're fun…" Cheetabadger groaned.  
Cheetawolf sighed. "Will you ever grow up?"  
"Don't plan on it." Cheetabadger said as he grinned.  
They eventually arrived at Two Sun (what remained of Tucson, Arizona), stopping by a bar so Cheetawolf could stop Cheetabadger's incessant demands for a beer. However, when they arrived, things went downhill fast.  
"Do you have a beer for my friend here? I'm paying." Cheetawolf asked the girl behind the counter as he placed a few caps on the scratched counter.  
"Unfortunately, that man just bought the last one…" she said gently, pointing to a man in the bar.  
Cheetabadger, overhearing the conversation, drew his machete and promptly cut the head off of the person who bought the last beer. Cheetawolf picked up his hard-earned caps off the counter and then dragged Cheetabadger out the door as fast as he could, with Cheetabadger drinking his stolen beer all the while.  
However, someone was watching the entire event closely. Her head was in a shadow, as per the standard for the soon-to-be-introduced antagonist. "Could it really be the famous Cheetawolf?" she asked herself.  
Outside, Cheetawolf was scolding Cheetabadger like a little kid. Then, a Decanus and two Legionaries approached them. The Decanus spoke, right in Cheetawolf's unflinching face: "Surrender the tall one, assassin. If you do not comply we have received strict orders to crucify the both of you."  
"CRUCIFY, MY ASS!" Cheetabadger yelled. He promptly drew his machete and beheaded the Decanus. "Come on, Cheetawolf, live a little! Let's have some fun with these guys!" Cheetabadger said to Cheetawolf, who was busy trying to stay out of trouble.  
"Eh, might as well. I could use a break from all this tension." said Cheetawolf. Cheetawolf drew his own sword and ran it clean through a Legionary's skull and Cheetabadger easily picked up the last one and ran him into a wall, flattening the Legionary's head in an explosion of blood and brain matter.  
A crowd gathered around them, many of them taking pictures of the dead Legionaries to show their friends. Cheetawolf picked up a bottle of the Hydra that one of the corpses dropped out of its pocket.  
They both ran off. However, someone else was following them. That woman from before was watching them leave. Her tomato-red hair blew in the warm breeze as she departed a mile behind them.  
Ch.5- Paint the Town Red  
The sun rose on flagstaff, shining its rays into the eyes of Emperor Lanius. He had spent another night pacing, his mind centered on one thing, had his assassin succeeded?  
Soon after, a veteran Decanus stuck his head through the doorway.  
"Caesar, there are dignitaries waiting in the foyer."  
Lanius responded, "From where?"  
"Six tribes to the east, all wishing to join the legion."  
"I will be there shortly."  
As the Decanus left, Lanius sighed and started attaching his armor. _Another day, and more politics,_ he thought, subtly referencing the start of the story. _Why can't leading an empire be as simple as war?_  
In a hotel across the street, Cheetawolf watched the courtyard, waiting for any indication of his new target, whether it be visible, heat or aura. Cheetawolf's amazing eyes could determine a person's identity from miles away or in the air using a small but extremely powerful computer between his eyes and brain, and another one connected directly to his brain, which processed the signal from them and also integrated a sort of HUD in Cheetawolf's vision. The main computer in his brain could also generate strategies, autopilot his body in the air, help him auto-aim guns and things, process things at 2,000X the speed of even Cheetabadger's brain, and even predict movements, so he was kind of a cyborg. His HUD said that it was searching for a frequency of 1824.3845 Aura Frequency Units, the unique frequency of Lanius. Not far away, in another room, Cheetabadger was cleaning his weapons. First came his pistol, then the SMG, then the anti-material rifle, which he set up close to the window overlooking the palace. After cleaning these weapons and sharpening his machete, he reached into his duffel and withdrew a modified light machine gun. Outwardly it resembled other LMGs, minus the fact it was larger and heavier, but internally it was different. The original LMG was chambered to fire a 5.56x45 millimeter bullet, but this one was chambered for .50 BMG rounds, the same rounds fired by the anti-material rifle. Cheetabadger disassembled and cleaned the firing mechanism, then reassembled and loaded the machine gun, setting it down next to his rifle. Cheetabadger then sat down behind the anti-material rifle and waited to take the shot to destroy an empire.  
As the dawn rose, the new emperor walked with his visitors, escorted by the ever present Praetorian Guard. Cheetawolf's HUD alerted him about the selected aura frequency's presence the moment Lanius poked his head out the door. As they passed a small copse of trees, Cheetawolf picked up a detonator that was sitting on the window sill, and after a prompt from his internal computer's freshly-generated strategy, pressed the trigger. The resulting blast, caused by a strategically planted satchel charge, decimated the trees and easily exterminated most of the Praetorian Guard and dignitaries, as well as throwing Lanius 12 feet. The blast was not meant to kill the emperor, but wipe out most of his escorts and serve as the signal for the shooter, in this case, Cheetabadger, to fire. About ten seconds later the deafening crack of a .50 caliber round's discharge sounded, as Lanius' face mask split in half and his nose and eye sockets essentially were removed from existence. Cheetawolf's HUD flashed on-screen, or on-vision- "THE SELECTED AURA FREQUENCY HAS BEEN LOST. CHECK ARI MODULE AND RAG CALIBRATION AND RUN SCAN AGAIN.", confirming the kill. In the resulting confusion, none of the surviving guards noticed three figures disappearing, two men, one towering over everyone else, and a red haired woman not far behind.  
On the outskirts of Flagstaff, Cheetabadger stopped to watch the panic that enveloped the city. An old, wavering, sickly sounding excuse for a siren was sounding in the distance. Cheetawolf, on the other hand, stopped only to catch his breath, his heart pounding away, with the fear of being found as the shooters. After a time, Cheetabadger spoke.  
"This one of the few things I find beautiful in life."  
"What is?" Cheetawolf responded, still panting heavily.  
"Pure, unbridled chaos, with this city as exhibit A."  
"You are the most twisted person that I have met."  
"Thanks for the compliment."  
"That wasn't a compliment."  
"We should get moving; put some distance between us and the Legion."  
"Agreed. Let's go."  
The pair started walking again, headed for the Midwest, with the red-head female not far behind, muttering to herself, "This is where I draw the line; this shit has to stop."  
Ch.6-We're in Kansas  
"Hey, Cheetawolf.", said Cheetabadger.  
"What?"  
"Unlike that one girl from that famous movie with that wimpy lion and tin-can robot, we are most definitely in Kansas!"  
"Screw you; are you TRYING to get the authors sued?"  
"No, I was talking about the trailer for _The Cheetah Clan Chronicles- An Epic Motion Picture_! They say Fox gave just the trailer 6 out of 5 stars!"  
"Enough breaking the fourth wall, let's keep going."  
They continued on, walking and walking. Then, a woman with red hair ran in front of them.  
Pointing a gun at Cheetawolf's face, she asked firmly, "Are you the one known as…" she looked at a small piece of paper. "…Cheetawolf?" She butchered the name horribly, making it sound like "Khee-TAY-woof". Cheetawolf nearly cringed at the horrible mispronunciation.  
Cheetawolf replied, calmly as always, "Yes, that's me, and it's pronounced "CHEE-tah-wolf. You seem familiar. That red hair, those green eyes…"  
The woman replied, "don't you remember?! It's me, Kira! Kira Wolf! Don't you remember me from when we were dating?!"  
Cheetawolf paused, deep in thought. "Oh yeah!" he exclaimed. " I thought it was pronounced 'KYE-ray'. Weren't you that hippie girl from assassin's training who failed horribly, somehow getting a negative score on an exam where the minimum was zero?"  
Kira sighed and thought to herself, _Smartass... _then spoke. "Well, that was rather blunt. Nonetheless, I have been following you, waiting for an opportunity to get revenge for... Well, after all these years, I've forgotten. But that doesn't matter, because i've been looking for something to lock up for revenge. And now I've found it. Cheetawolf, you are officially under arrest for the assassination of Lanius."  
"Well, I don't think my friend Cheetabadger here would like that." Cheetawolf said, pointing at his scowling friend.  
"Wait, Cheetabadger?" Kira said, shocked. "_THE_ Cheetabadger? You mean the Hell on Legs Cheetabadger that exterminated the original Caesar?!"  
"Um… I guess so?" Cheetawolf said, puzzled.  
Kira started to run off, but Cheetawolf reached out with a clawed hand (also thanks to genetic modification) and grabbed her by the collar of her duster.  
Cheetawolf said to her, taking out the bottle of Hydra, "One last thing before I kill you. Do you know how to use this for my severed wing?"  
Kira stopped struggling. "Yes, I do. But it's going to cost you."  
Cheetawolf instantly drew his 6-inch hunting knife, which had an undamaged metallic black steel blade and a bit of diamond coating at the tip, out of a sheath in his leg and held it up to Kira's neck. Cheetawolf then placed his other hand around her neck, his razor-sharp claws digging in over her jugular vein and carotid artery, and raised her clear off the round with only one arm without even breaking a sweat, extending his good wing out behind him as a counterweight. "No, it's going to cost YOU quite a lot more if you won't do this for me. You do not realize just how skilled I am in the art of instant, but also unimaginably painful, killing. You won't even have the time to _think_ about screaming. So, do you accept this request?"  
Kira just hung there, flailing about and making random choking noises.  
Cheetawolf slightly loosened and changed his grip on Kira's neck so she could talk, and asked again.  
Kira gulped and shakily said "Yes", not that she had much of a choice, unless she was suicidal.  
Cheetawolf gently set her down and she rubbed her neck, grateful to breathe again.  
Cheetawolf lay down on his belly on a nearby abandoned road, the severed wing next to him. Cheetabadger stood nearby, machete drawn, in case she tried to run away or kill Cheetawolf. "How long has this been severed?" Kira asked.  
"About a week" said Cheetawolf.  
"I'm amazed this wing hasn't started breaking down yet", Kira said to Cheetawolf.  
"Well, it's mostly carbon-fiber for the inner structure and synthetic feathers on the outside with a bit of supercharged artificial muscle connecting some of the internal joints. not much to really rot in there. Now, will this hurt?" Cheetawolf asked.  
Kira replied, "not at all. All I have to do is apply this stuff to the joints between your body and the... wing. Then you just stick the two parts together. Hopefully, this will work on synthetic materials just as well as on living flesh."  
Kira put the Hydra, which had a consistency of Vicks VapoRub, on the two parts of the wing and body, and simply stuck the two pieces together for a couple of seconds and let go. Slowly but surely, the wing lifted off the ground as the parts bonded back together. Eventually, in about 45 seconds, the wing was as good as gently used. Only a very slight seam remained.  
Cheetawolf stood up and flapped the wing a little, kicking up some dust, and then furled and unfurled it a few times. It seemed to work just as well as before it was damaged. Cheetawolf took to the sky, doing loop-the-loops, spirals, and other stunts to test out the wing that made Cheetabadger nearly blow chunks all over Kira just by looking at them. Cheetawolf gently touched down again.  
Cheetawolf said to Kira, extending a clawed hand, "is there anything I can do for your putting me back in the air?"  
Kira replied, shaking his hand, and being careful to avoid the claws, "For starters, don't kill me." Cheetabadger moaned sadly in the background and sheathed his machete. "Also, if you let me leave now, I will forget that this whole thing happened."  
"Fine" Cheetawolf said.  
Kira then left, running off towards the large forest on the map that Cheetawolf was given.  
Cheetabadger yelled at Cheetawolf, "YOU IDIOT! WE COULD HAVE KILLED HER, BUT NO, YOU HAD TO LET THE ENEMY GET AWAY!"  
Cheetawolf wiped his right eye and calmly replied, "Careful, you got spit in my eye. That eye's packed with 1600 caps worth of equipment. Besides, she's not on my to-kill list. Also, I have a feeling that she could be useful later on… and no, not in THAT way, Cheetabadger."  
Cheetabadger giggled, his mind in the gutter as usual.

CH.7- main floor: guns, assassins and regulators!

Three days later, The now infamous pair walked across the plains of kansas, moving ever forward towards their ever unknown short time, cheetabadger stopped and drew a modified LMG with two rails, one with a sniper scope and one with a less-powerful scope typically used with these sort of guns, while saying, "hold up, someone's moving on the far ridge."  
After sighting the speck, He shortly added, "Bastard's a legionary. Seems your girl ratted us out. Nice going."  
Cheetawolf soon responded, "first of all, Kira is my _EX_-girlfriend, and she is not the kind to tattle on people like this."  
"Hate to tell ya, but Kira's a regulator. The duster was a giveaway."  
"What do you mean, 'Regulator'? The only regulators my computer and I know of are those 3-pronged parts in electric circuits."  
"You don't know a damn thing about anything other than all that junk on your workbench, do you? Regulators are militants sworn to protect peace and order, by any means necessary. That includes giving important intel to the Legion about a pair of hapless assassins. CHEETAWOLF, DUCK! One of them saw us, and he's got a sniper rifle!"  
Both hit the dirt as round after round of just-accurate-enough-to-hit-the-broadside-of-a-barn-at-five-paces .308 slugs flew out overhead.  
Cheetawolf asked over the thudding sounds of bullets hitting the dirt and sand, "how do you know so much about these regulators?"  
To which cheetabadger responded, " I served a three year stint with them out east, but I was unceremoniously kicked out for 'harsh methods'."  
"Harsh methods?"  
"I was only asking him a few questions. Personally, being electrocuted while having an arm being slowly sawn off is not that harsh."  
"I've overvolted many a regulator in my days of working with electronics, but I have to say, you are one sick motherfu-."  
"Less talking, more finding ways kill him and the inevitable gang of idiots to follow."  
Almost as if on cue, four recruits charged over the opposite hills. Cheetawolf spread his wings and got ready to jump for a dive-bombing melee run, which was how he typically handled groups like this on his own.  
Cheetabadger yelled, "HOLD UP! Flying might make you more evasive, but it draws attention for miles in conditions like this!" Cheetawolf folded his wings halfway, ready to deploy them again at a moment's notice. "All the way, Cheetawolf. even half-folded, those things are like a bull's-eyes for them, and they are a pain in the ass to maintain, right?", Cheetabadger explained to Cheetawolf. Cheetawolf folded his wings the rest of the way and started giving advice and commands to Cheetabadger, as Cheetawolf didn't have much experience with this sort of long-range combat and would be totally useless behind a gun in the situation. The recruits continued advancing, only to be introduced to cheetabadger's modified LMG, and were shortly reduced to dog food. All the while cheetabadger was saying, over the deafening pulsed roar of his LMG, " This is why they should never send recruits to kill accomplished killers."  
Cheetawolf was looking through Cheetabadger's duffel bag (Cheetabadger had given him permission to do this if something like this happened), and, underneath a pile of about 30 cases of random ammunition and a few random mechanical parts that went to only God knows what, he found the infamous AMR. Cheetawolf picked it up, lined up a shot on the attempted sniper (with the help of his computer), pulled the trigger... and got blasted back on his butt by the recoil, which also completely fractured his right shoulder and put a fairly serious crack through one of the 1-inch-thick bones that supported his right wing. Fortunately, Cheetawolf's horrible shot was just accurate enough to reduce the would-be sniper's face to red, slushy silly putty, with broken bits of bone and brain matter oozing out of what was left of his nose. Upon hearing the report followed by Cheetawolf's pained yell, Cheetabadger glanced over and saw his somewhat unwilling companion down on his arse nursing his bloodied shoulder and damaged wing while muttering obscenities at the rifle. Cheetabadger barely contained his laughter at the sight, and finally stated, " you sir, are either stupid, crazy, or extremely lucky, as the recoil from that same rifle has literally severed limbs at the shoulder."  
Cheetawolf painfully responded, through gritted teeth, "You think you could have told me that a bit earlier? I'm built a lot more durable than most men twice my age, and that STILL did some serious damage. That sniper did have a less painful original variant, right?"  
"yes."  
"good. What's its model number?"  
"I think it was something like 'DKS-501'".  
Cheetawolf then reached into his own pack and removed a stimpack, a massed-produced version of Hydra designed to heal even the most severe internal injuries overnight. After injecting the contents between his shoulder and wing, he stood up rather shakily, still in a fair bit of pain, and stumbled to the hill the now-dead would-be sniper was on. in the recruit's hands was, indeed, a sniper rifle, and in pretty good shape, too. Cheetawolf reached down and picked up the rifle. Engraved on it was the company logo, which was scratched to oblivion, with a model number of "DKS-501" next to it. He held it in his hands, feeling the weight, balance, and lots of other aspects of it that he would precisely remember to use it later. It was a lot lighter than Cheetabadger's AMR, but it looked almost identical, aside from some different mechanical things and a night-vision scope on Cheetabadger's rifle. Cheetawolf braced himself properly this time, resting the rifle stock on his chest rather than on his still-damaged shoulder blade, and test-fired it in order to calculate the range, recoil, accuracy, round drop, and other things that he would record to his computer to help him line up a shot with it, as Cheetawolf wasn't exactly great with snipers, so he would have to rely heavily on his computer when using this one. There was surprisingly less recoil on this rifle than on the other one, and the scope was off by quite a lot, which would explain the original owner's horrible accuracy. Also, the round drop was barely noticeable within the rifle's effective range, but after that it dropped sharply. Meanwhile, cheetabadger was at the bottom of the hill sifting through the pockets of the other legion idiots. With the shout of " Jackpot!" Cheetabadger lifted into the air a full bottle of whiskey. Cheetawolf picked up the rifle and came running down the hill, thinking Cheetabadger was in trouble. Cheetawolf didn't seem to mind the weight of the rifle at all. However, he would probably have to ditch it if he had to go airborne, as his wings' maximum stand-still takeoff load is around 180 pounds, which would be fully maxed out if he carried the rifle along with all of his typical ammo and equipment. Cheetawolf skidded to a halt at the base of the hill, quickly unfurling his wings to act as air brakes and stabilizers. His right wing hurt horribly as the damaged bone endured over 160 pounds of drag from the braking and jostling as Cheetawolf bumpily came to a halt. Cheetawolf, upon seeing Cheetabadger's find, folded up his wings and sighed. Then he spoke. "if you're going to keep that, just don't give any to me. a side effect of both my disease and the wing implantations are that I am very sensitive to alcohol. If I have more than half of a shot of that stuff a day, it will probably kill me."  
Cheetabadger said, "Well, that's okay, I wasn't planning on sharing, anyway". He then opened up the bottle and downed half of it in one go without even flinching at the horrible taste that nearly killed Cheetawolf many years ago. Cheetawolf sighed, coughed a couple of times, and sat down. Even the _smell_ of the stuff sickened him.  
After a hour or so of walking (and projectile vomiting on cheetawolf's part, due to the smell of alcohol), cheetabadger finally spoke, " Y'know, what are we gonna do about the regulator, cuz she's probably following us, more likely than not to see if we're dead or to finish us off."  
Cheetawolf said, "why don't we see what Kira's up to in general first. You know, I can search a 100- mile radius in the air in 2 hours."  
"Bullshit."  
"you'd be surprised how fast I can fly. I've hit Mach 1 while diving on several occasions."  
"Again, I say bullshit. the g-force of moving at mach 1 unprotected can rip someone my size to pieces. But, if you say you can, let's see you try."  
"Well, I'm still feeling pretty beat up from that recoil earlier..."  
"Just as I thought, bullshit."  
Cheetawolf sighed and face-palmed. He WAS still feeling pretty beat up from his encounter with the rifle, but he HAD been built to handle that kind of airspeed when he was in good condition. However, he wasn't quite _ready_for that kind of airspeed, as that medicine typically fixed everything by the next day, not instantly like Hydra. Stimpaks are pretty much free as long as you had the ingredients and extra syringes, and Cheetawolf, having many ties with manufacturers, scavengers, and other assassins, makes the stuff in bulk and distributes it to supplement his profits. He also keeps a fair amount on-hand, incase something like this happened.

Ch.8- A history lesson, but without the school

A couple of days later, as the pair trudged along yet another dusty pre-war road, cheetawolf finally built up enough courage and asked, "hey cheetabadger, do you mind if i asked how you got into the messenger business?"  
His companion responded, "Why do you ask?"  
"because someone like you could make a mint off the merc business, and you would fit the job to a 'T'."  
"You first."  
Cheetawolf said, "Okay, fine, but prepare for a flashback. I'm going to be telling this in third person as myself back when I was only five years old."

Cheetabadger winced, bracing himself for one of the most boring components of any story: The character backstory.

It was a stormy night, and a five-year-old sickly orphan had been dumped on the street. On the edge of death from a mysterious illness, he found comfort with a sickly wolf that wandered about in this part of town. They both seemed wary of each other first, but they soon created a bond that not even death could touch. The orphan had been born in Novac, but without a name. As the orphan grew up, his sickly wolfy friend showed him the basics of survival, like where and how to get food, and who and what to avoid. However, by the time the orphan turned ten, his friend was on his last legs. Using all of the skills he had been taught, the orphan managed to save the wolf, and predicted that it would keep living strong for at least 5 more years. But, only minutes after the wolf stood up for the first time in months, disaster struck. The Brotherhood of Steel raided the city, mowing down everything in its path. one of the operatives saw the orphan and aimed a heat-seeking rocket launcher at him and fired, the rocket locked on with deadly down-to-the-millimeter accuracy. the orphan closed his eyes and waited for his half-second-long but unimaginably painful death, but it didn't come. Well, not to him, at least. He heard a deafening blast and opened his eyes just as the rocket reached what had saved him. His wolf had jumped in front of him, getting blown to bits instantly, but redirecting the blast just enough to leave the orphan shaken and traumatized, but unharmed. As the operative advanced, loading another rocket, the orphan picked up the only thing that was left of his friend: a razor-sharp, perfectly white wolf tooth at his feet, and ran for his life. Only weeks later, he was captured after unintentionally intruding on the property of a private security outpost. The orphan was interrogated by someone code-named Cheetah-Cougar. However, instead of a barrage of stressful questions followed by an execution, Cheetah-cougar only said one thing. He said, "Don't worry, I won't hurt you. I saw the whole incident from a security camera we had installed there. I can help you get the revenge I know you want." The orphan, with the desire for revenge bubbling out of his rock-solid heart, accepted without any second thought. Cheetah-cougar asked, "Now, first thing, what's your name?"  
The nameless orphan paused for a few seconds, and then said proudly, "My name is Cheetawolf, sir."

Cheetah-cougar then gave Cheetawolf an acceptance from for an experimental procedure to build the perfect assassin. The procedure would give Cheetawolf a complete physical overhaul, including reinforced bones to deflect melee attacks paired with clawed hands for delivering melee attacks, a lightweight hollow bone frame for faster movement, and, the most amazing of them all, a set of wings to let him kill and survey from the air, and as a method of escape if worst came to worst. Cheetawolf would also get the super-powered eyes mentioned earlier. Cheetawolf signed the form, and he was sent to the surgery and genetic modification department in a couple of hours. In about 12 hours, the procedure was finished, and Cheetawolf's brain had gotten instructions and experience with the wings and other modifications already written into it, without even having used the mods once. Cheetawolf also got many implants put into him, to fine-tune him into a perfect assassin.  
Cheetawolf, upon waking up, realized his wolf's tooth was gone from his pocket.  
His doctor told him, "Cheetah-cougar told us how fond you are of that wolf's tooth, so we cloned it, putting the copy on a necklace for you, and implanting the genuine one into the muscle of your new, more powerful heart, so your friend will always be close, no matter what."  
In the next couple of years that followed, Cheetah-cougar became Cheetawolf's mentor, and even he was impressed by Cheetawolf's ability to learn to do anything, no matter how complex or precise, in only one observation.  
Once Cheetawolf turned fifteen, he was officially a licensed counter-assassin, the highest rank possible, intended to stop any other assassin, no matter how experienced. Then, a few months later, Cheetawolf met Cheetabadger.

"...And that's where we are now." concluded Cheetawolf.  
Cheetabadger had somehow fallen asleep standing up, halfway through the story, and was snoring softly.

Cheetawolf drew his black-steel desert eagle and fired a blank into the air. Cheetabadger awoke with a start, nearly falling on his arse. Cheetawolf, well, actually Cheetawolf's computer, could turn down the sensitivity of his ears to literally being deaf, so he wasn't bothered by the gunshot at all.  
"Asshole." Cheetabadger muttered to himself, Cheetawolf's supercharged hearing easily picking up on it once it re-adjusted back to high-sensitivity mode.  
Cheetawolf sighed, and then said, "so, what's your story?"

To which cheetabadger responded, " To sum it up, I was born in a small village in Arizona. I had a good life, until I was 12. three days after I turned 12, the Legion stopped by. In about 2 hours the village was toasted, all the men in the village were dead, I was enslaved, and my sisters and mother were enslaved, raped, and handed out to the officers as brides. Soon after, I was put through standard Legionary training. After three months of training I was assigned the rank of Recruit Decanus, and given a small squad of fellow trainees. About Six years later, I was handpicked by the Malpais Legate to lead one of his top Centuries. After three short years, My unit was sent to take over Hoover Dam. 75% of my troops were diverted to chasing the NCR through Boulder City, which turned out to be a literal bomb. The NCR then counter attacked, reducing most of the force to corpses and ash. shortly after, Caesar ordered all Centurions who had failed to be crucified. When they tried to crucify me, they kinda died. painfully. As in I stuck them on their own crosses. Anyway, I spent the next nine years on the run, delivering the mail and soon after was recruited by the Mojave BOS, after dealing with a potentially life threatening vent malfunction. after those nine years, I accept a job with the Mojave Express, and promptly was robbed and shot in the head outside of Goodsprings. The rest is history."  
"So, is that it?" asked Cheetawolf.  
Cheetabadger responded, "Sure is. It's certainly shorter than YOUR backstory, which could pass as a whole story and a half in _The Cheetah Clan Chronicles_".  
"What did i tell you about breaking the fourth wall?" Cheetawolf scolded.  
"Sorry." sighed Cheetabadger.  
"Anyway, so, You're the courier who stopped the legion?"  
"The one and Only."  
"No wonder the Legion wants you dead. Also, your getting shot in the head during the backstory explains a LOT."  
"Like what?"  
Cheetawolf coughed while saying "Insanity".  
"Excuse me, WHAT?"  
"Nothing, just a cough". Cheetawolf held back a snicker.

Ch.9 Reunions, Deaths and Twinkies  
Three days and two death squads later, the intrepid duo passing through a forest when cheetawolf stopped, and seemingly sniffed the air, then saying, "something's wrong. I'm picking up Kira's aura right here."  
Almost on cue, a tomahawk spins by and embeds itself in a nearby tree trunk, followed by gunshots. Both ducked behind trees, while Cheetabadger responded, catching a glimpse of bright red hair, "Seems like you were right; the bitch came back."  
about 15 seconds later, Kira emerged from the other trees, a 10mm smg in one hand, and another tomahawk in the other. as she moved around one seemingly innocent tree, one moment she was upright, the next she was down, face in pain from a collision with cheetabadger's fist. as she fell, a small orange bar fell out of her satchel. upon seeing this, Cheetabadger said, gleefully, "ooh, a Twinkie!" To which Kira replied, "that explains how your so damn FAT." At once, cheetabadger started twitching, and Cheetawolf's sensitive eyes were nearly overwhelmed by a menacing aura, with a frequency of exactly 666 Aura Frequency Units. Please note Cheetawolf had never seen cheetabadger even remotely angry, and now a small voice in the back of his head was saying, _run, Run, RUN! ...Or fly, but either way, GET THE FLYING FUDGE OUTTA HERE! _Somehow, Cheetawolf controlled his primal instincts and stood his ground without the slightest faltering. Meanwhile, Cheetabadger, walked over, picked up Kira, and tossed her, smashing her through a mid-sized tree. Somehow, Kira got up, and did the most idiotic thing she could ever do: She charged Cheetabadger with what seemed to be a flimsy steak knife in hand. Cheetabadger grabbed her wrist, twisted it to the point of shattering, rammed his knee into hers, and then punched her in the back of the skull, dazing her just enough for Cheetawolf to finish her off. Cheetawolf unfurled his wings, grabbed Kira by her forearms, and broke into a dead 30 MPH sprint, and with one massive wing-flap, took to the sky. Slowly but surely they rose, Cheetawolf running out of wind from driving his massive, overloaded wings at 110% for over 5 minutes straight while trying to hold a flailing Kira. Then, Cheetawolf folded up his wings and dove, faster and faster, until a conical cloud formed around the falling pair. Cheetabadger couldn't believe it; Cheetawolf had gone supersonic. Cheetawolf swooped down to 16 feet above ground level, both of his computers spiked at 100% from keeping him in control at these speeds, approached a boulder, and let go. As a deafening sonic boom roared in Kira's ears, her head and most of her upper torso were instantly, but unimaginably painfully, vaporized as she slammed into the rock at over 800 MPH. The rock was pulverized to the consistency of large pebbles from the sheer amount of epicness... and also the force of Kira's face imploding into itself with the force of a small black hole. Cheetawolf then slightly unfurled his wings to pull up over a tree stump, and he went vertical, gradually slowing back down. He then gently glided back down, landing in front of an awe-struck Cheetabadger.  
The first thing Cheetabadger said was, with Twinkie in mouth, "I take back that bullshit".  
Cheetawolf walked up to what was left of Kira, and rummaged through her bag. He found 2 containers of Hydra, some ammo and another tomahawk, to Cheetabadger's delight, 4 more Twinkies, and a folded-up bit of paper. Cheetawolf carefully unfolded it and it read,

Kira,

Word came in from out east about a contract being offered. I need the following idiots dead, for about 1,000 caps each. Keep the loot.  
Cruz  
Cheetabadger  
and ESPECIALLY that flying nuisance Cheetawolf.

.And, Cheetawolf, if you're reading this, fuck off.  
-Mr. Fox

The next day, at around noon, the pair were walking along, when suddenly, Cheetawolf hit the deck behind what was left of an old brick wall. Cheetabadger asked, "Cheetawolf, what's your problem?" Just then, a bullet pinged off of Cheetabadger's armor's chest plate. "Oh, _That's _your problem."  
Cheetawolf, remembering Cheetabadger's advice, kept his wings folded and drew his almost-new sniper rifle and started to pick the enemies off, his ears turning down to next-to-deaf to hold out against the deafening blasts from his and Cheetabadger's rifles. However, the enemy had brought reinforcements, and they were soon met with a hail of various-caliber bullets. in Cheetawolf's pack was a defensive device, flexible, bulletproof armor, but for his wings, made out of a special alloy that made it as flexible as mid-thickness rubber, but as strong as Cheetabadger's armor. He unfurled his wings and strapped it on. Cheetawolf hated the wing armor, as it was heavy, and he couldn't fly with it on. However, he had made a special move with it. He stood up behind Cheetabadger, facing away from him, and wrapped his wings around his chest, neck, and most of his legs, making a versatile armor just as tough as Cheetabadgers. And just in time, too. bullets were constantly blasting and bouncing off the both of their armors. Cheetawolf had to occasionally duck down into his wings to avoid getting headshotted. Suddenly, a bullet tore through Cheetawolf's lower back, millimeters from his spine; and area that SHOULD HAVE been covered by Cheetabadger. Cheetawolf pretty much crumpled onto his back, in pain, shock, and also a bit of anger, too. Cheetawolf painfully tucked his legs and head into his wings, in a full defensive stance. Then, out of the corner of his eye, as he was reaching for the Stimpack in his pocket, he saw something unbelievable. Cheetabadger had sat down, and was drinking _coffee_, of all things, of all times! Cheetawolf shouted, "_CHEETABADGER, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! YOU JUST ABOUT GOT ME KILLED!"_  
Cheetabadger replied, over the roaring gunfire, "WELL, ITS 12:35, COFFEE TIME!"  
Cheetawolf replied, "_ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?! COFFEE TIME?! I'M BLEEDING OUT AS WE SPEAK, AND YOU WANT TO DRINK EFFING COFFEE?! AT LEAST KILL SOME OF THEM, BECAUSE, IN CASE YOU HAVEN'T NOTICED, I CAN'T REALLY SHOOT WITH MY SPINE IN PIECES!"_  
Cheetabadger said, slightly annoyed, "DON'T BE SUCH AN ASSHOLE ABOUT IT. THIS WILL ONLY TAKE TEN MINUTES. I'M BUSY READING THE OWNER'S MANUAL FOR YOUR WINGS. PRETTY FANCY IF I DO SAY SO MYSELF. DO THEY REALLY HAVE AIR BRAKES AND EXTENDING FLAPS AND STUFF?"  
Cheetawolf awkwardly injected a Stimpack from the safety of inside his curled-up wings. Yelling made his wound hurt even worse, so he didn't even bother telling him that the wings in fact did have those. Luckily, his computer's next firmware update was expected to contain a feature that allowed him to feel zero pain on demand, while still showing the state of his body.  
Eventually, Cheetabadger got the hint and faked an overly-dramatic death that would be seen in only the most romantic Anime ending. Eventually the bullets stopped, and the enemies left. Cheetabadger walked over to a half-dead Cheetawolf, who had definitely seen better days. He wasn't moving. Cheetabadger poked him, shoved him about, and even farted in his face, but still nothing. Cheetabadger heard him breathing, so he must have just gone into shock or passed out. Cheetabadger picked up the limp, bloody mess of Cheetawolf by a stiff wing and yelled into his ear,  
"_**HOLY SHIT, CHEETAWOLF, WAKE THE FUCK UP ALREADY!"**_  
Cheetawolf woke up with a start and Cheetabadger dropped him on his back. Cheetawolf yelped and then groaned, rubbing his wound. "Luckily, it doesn't seem to have hit anything vital", said Cheetawolf, still in just as much pain as before. "Why does it always seem that I'm the one getting beat up, shot, maimed, or eventually killed?"  
Cheetabadger said, "Oh don't worry, the main protagonists never actually die in these kinds of stories."  
Cheetawolf sighed. "it looks like I might be out of commission for a while, I might not heal in a couple of days, even with a Stimpack. It's generally not a good thing when you can't feel or move your legs, right?"  
Cheetabadger said, genuinely concerned, "Do your wings still work? if so, you might still be able to get around. And the legs should come back to you in a while, it's probably from shock, or maybe your super-fancy computers took a shit."  
Cheetawolf said, "Yeah, the wings still work, but I can't do a standing takeoff with this equipment. You wouldn't mind carrying an extra 20 pounds of equipment, right?"  
Cheetabadger replied, "Yeah, I wouldn't mind at all. Give it here."  
Cheetawolf turned onto his belly and removed his backpack, giving it to Cheetabadger. Then he took off the wing armor and gave it to Cheetabadger, and took back his manual, which was sticking out of Cheetabadger's pocket. Cheetabadger had marked the page showing installation configurations, which involved computer-generated pictures of the wings installed on naked ladies in various ways.  
Typical Cheetabadger.  
"Now, Cheetabadger, I need you to do me a favor. See that cliff over there? Get a good running start and throw me off with a slight upward angle, like one of those foamy planes I see you messing with sometimes. That should get me enough speed to get into a self-sustaining glide." Cheetabadger picked up Cheetawolf, being careful to avoid the wound, and Cheetawolf's wing flaps opened up, extending the leading and trailing edge to give the wings twice the surface area as before. Under the flaps was transparent flexible polycarbonate, and Cheetabadger could see all the spindly fake muscle and plastic sinew working inside, along with the carbon-fiber framework that held it together. Cheetabadger got up to an impressively fast 25-MPH sprint, and hurled Cheetawolf off the cliff. His wings instantly caught the air, and he gained altitude without even needing to flap at all. Then, small ailerons on the wings extended and moved around, steering Cheetawolf in the correct direction. Cheetabadger longed to fly like Cheetawolf, to be free of the restrictions of gravity. Cheetawolf came to a stop mid-air over the cliff and hovered on a fast-moving thermal updraft. He said to Cheetabadger, "So, where do you want to go next?" Cheetabadger snapped out of his daydreaming involving flying with the ladies from the installation configurations and replied, "Man, what are you, a masochist? Let's just take a break until you feel better."  
"No, it's fine, really. using my wings doesn't require my lower back, and it shouldn't mess with the healing, either."  
"Come on, just land. I know you're practically a robot, but everyone has a limit, and I don't want you to pass yours. I can tell that you're in a lot of pain, so just cut the crap and take a load off."  
Cheetawolf, now able to feel his legs again, exited the thermal and shakily touched down in front of Cheetabadger, his wings slowly retracting their flaps and then furling up against his back again. "You're right, we should just lay low for a while. I saw a town down there," said Cheetawolf, pointing at the cliff. "Let's stop there and take a break. I can make some of my famous NukeBurgers."  
"NukeBurgers?" asked Cheetabadger, puzzled.  
"Yeah, it's made out of those two-headed cows. You've seen those before, right? For some reason, their meat is the best resource around for making amazing burgers, and I actually patented that idea, as I was the first person to actually try it. I've also got patents on many melee weapons, guns, and even a couple of aircraft. You know the WolfCraft BluePiranha fishing spear? I designed that, along with many other knives and things. I am also the founder of WolfCraft Equipment Co."  
"Wow, YOU designed the BluePiranha? I've tried it before, and I've picked off mice from a hundred feet with it. it's the most accurate non-shotgun CQC weapon i've ever tried. What else did you design?"  
"Let's talk about that later. In the meantime, I'm hungry. Let's go find a stray cow or something."  
"Yeah, let's make some NukeBurgers!"

In the evening, the pair was busy making all the burgers they could eat, plus some for a bit of extra cash. Cheetabadger was busy chopping up the cow, and Cheetawolf was grilling the meat on another nifty invention of his- a folding single-burger grill powered by either butane, propane, or natural gas. it could even run on whiskey vapor, and that added a bit of flavor. a crowd gathered around, most of them hearing of Cheetawolf's famous burger, but never actually trying one. At 15 caps a burger, they were making some serious profit. Eventually, one of the farmers approached the two saying he didn't appreciate Cheetabadger taking five of his cows to turn into slightly-overpriced foodstuffs. That's when they decided to finish off this last cow and give the other two back to the farmer, along with 200 caps for a bit of restitution However, that didn't even dent the net profit. Afterwards, they checked into a fairly decent hotel, and the manager, because he was a massive fan of Cheetawolf and his NukeBurger, let them stay two nights for free. During the night, Cheetawolf slept like he was dead. Cheetabadger slept slightly less soundly. The NukeBurgers didn't quite agree with him, and he had explosive nuclear diarrhea all night. You could say that Cheetabadger found out they you can't say "Diarrhea" without saying "Die".

The next morning, the pair headed out into town. Cheetabadger's diarrhea had passed, literally, and Cheetawolf was almost healed.  
Cheetabadger asked, out of nowhere, "So, are you also a weapons designer? What else have you made?"  
"Well, I just design things as a hobby, and some of them make the cut as real products. I design weapons primarily, but I have also designed a few aircraft, and a couple of them are in service. Have you heard of the WolfCraft GreyWolf?"  
"Yeah, i flew in one once; safest aircraft I ever stepped foot in."  
"I'm the original designer of the GreyWolf. I also had a hand in the GreyCheetah and TimberWolf."  
"NO WAY. _You_ designed the GreyWolf?!"  
"I also designed the bullets for the sniper rifle you use. I was the one who received your request for 'the perfect bullet for any situation', and I was the one who drew up the design for it. I have to say, your sniper was quite the challenge to work with. I mean, you wanted me to double the velocity of the bullet, and that's nearly impossible. I actually had to design an entirely new bullet for your rifle, and that's why you can only order them direct from WolfCraft Equipment."  
"You, my friend, make one mean bullet. Since you did create those products , did you also design my armor?"  
"Unfortunately, no. The Gun Runners make that model, although they _are_ affiliated with WolfCraft. I don't specialize in armor, anyway. it's mainly mechanical and electronic things."  
"I still can't believe you are the head of the world's largest and widespread equipment manufacturer. what's it like at WolfCraft, anyway?"  
"Oh, it's okay. I used to work in an office for designing, but now I carry a notepad with me to jot down any designs I come up with."  
"Oh, oh! Do you take requests?"  
"Yes, I do. What do you need?"  
"I want a shotgun that can shoot at 30 rounds per second."  
"Um... I've done that with machine guns, but not a shotgun yet." Cheetawolf whipped out a pad of graph paper and started drawing. "It's going to need rotating barrels, are you fine with that?"  
"That's alright", said Cheetabadger.  
Cheetawolf continued drawing for a couple seconds, and then put the pad away. "I typically draw these in steps, not all in one go. This one might take a couple of weeks to get right, though."  
"I'm fine with that, now let's go buy some useless junk that probably won't last a day!"  
In a weapons shop, something caught Cheetawolf's eye. it was a copy of the BluePiranha. He asked the owner, "Is this spear your own design?"  
The owner replied, "No, it's a budget copy from the WolfCraft BluePiranha."  
Cheetawolf asked, "Do you have the permission to copy the design?"  
The owner got out a sheet of paper certifying that he, in fact, did have permission to copy the weapon's design.  
Cheetawolf said, "Okay then, carry on." and left with Cheetabadger.  
The next shop sold knickknacks, like clay bowls and things. Cheetabadger was busy messing with a "Snake Box", a box with a plastic snake inside with a little mechanical thing that popped the "snake" out when you opened the lid. The first time Cheetabadger opened it, he screamed like a little girl, and threw it on the ground, exploding it into dust. The manager glared angrily at him and then pointed at a sign that read,  
"Pretty to look at, delightful to hold; but if you break it, I mark it as 'Sold'". Cheetawolf sighed, and said to the manager, "He's with me. How much?"  
"5 caps for that one."  
"Oh, that isn't so bad. here you go. Sorry about that, my friend can be a bit... Temperamental, minus the 'Tempera' sometimes." Cheetawolf placed 5 caps on the counter, and led Cheetabadger out before he blew up the rest of the universe with plastic snakes.  
He said to Cheetabadger, "You know, you really should be more careful. If we keep drawing attention like this, someone might see us, and then things will go to total shi-"  
Just then, a security guard yelled out, "HEY! THOSE ARE THE PAIR THAT KILLED LANIUS! STOP THEM!"  
Cheetabadger said, "Cheetawolf, do your thing!"  
Cheetawolf spread his wings and took to the sky, out of range of the security guards' primitive swords and bows. Then, Cheetawolf got into another mach-1 dive and simply flew inches over the guards. The sonic boom disoriented and deafened every single one of them, as they were assembling in single file. Then, Cheetawolf swooped back around and used his air brakes to slow down enough to keep in control. He drew his sword and plowed through all of them at 300 MPH. He tossed a map with a dot on it that said "Emergency Meetup Point", and yelled to Cheetabadger, "MEET ME HERE! IT'S WOLFCRAFT HEADQUARTERS! I DREW THE MOST DIRECT ROUTE FROM THIS AREA ON THE MAP! I'LL BE GOING OFF THE CLIFF! I SHOULD SEE YOU THERE IN A COUPLE OF DAYS!" Cheetabadger ran to the cliff where Cheetawolf was scheduled to fly over, and waited. Cheetawolf finished off the last of the security, police, and witnesses and flew over the cliff.

Then, of course, Cheetabadger had to do something stupid. Just as Cheetawolf went over the cliff, Cheetabadger grabbed onto his ankle and was pulled down with him. Needless to say, they both heard a loud _SNAP!_ as the supports for Cheetawolf's wings painfully shattered, overloaded by 300 pounds of Cheetabadger. They both tumbled down the cliffside, Cheetawolf's trashed wings flopping around him and absorbing the impact from some of the bigger rocks. They finally came to a dusty stop, and a massive building towered over them. a sign in front read-

"WolfCraft Equipment Co. Central Headquarters; Design and Manufacturing Division".  
Several GreyWolves sat outside, one of them was taxiing around a fenced-in testing runway thing. Suddenly, a bunch of people ran out, one of them probably witnessing the crash. One of them ran up to Cheetawolf.  
"Hey, Cheetawolf, are you alright?!" he yelled.  
Some paramedics, typically used for aircraft crashes or the very rare factory or testing accident, ran to the scene. Once again, Cheetawolf was out cold. It was probably his computer putting him into a coma to help his survival. Of course, the technicians could get him out of it, but it was still worrying for everyone to see him splayed about like that.  
They carefully took Cheetawolf into his office, a worried Cheetabadger not close behind. One of the technicians took a screwdriver and poked behind Cheetawolf's right ear, revealing a strange data port used to interface with the company's computers to update firmware, and in this case reset the computer to get Cheetawolf up and running again. One of the technicians said to Cheetabadger,  
"Okay, I'll give it to you straight. It's going to take around three days to get Cheetawolf back in commission."  
"3 DAYS?!"  
"Yeah, we have to reset his computer, run diagnostics, repair his wings and anything else that's broken, update his firmware, and then test everything. it's no small feat, I'm afraid."  
"Well, what am I going to do in the meantime?"  
"Do you like tearing things apart and smashing them to... around head-sized pieces?"  
"OH, DO I!"  
"Well, we've got a couple of GreyWolves that failed quality control in storage, and it takes weeks to fully strip them down again. It could take a man like you mere hours to pull them to bits. Resources are scarce here, so we recycle parts from old aircraft and make new ones out of it."  
"So... what, now?"  
"Just go out to hanger #5 and smash the planes..."  
"Oh, okay!"  
"Once you're done, we can have you checked in to a nearby hotel. WolfCraft won't be held responsible for anything you do outside of this facility. Just be sure not to disturb Cheetawolf until he's all disconnected; if that data connector comes loose during the firmware update, chances are it will kill him."  
Cheetabadger walked over to Cheetawolf, with his thick data cable sticking out behind his ear. The nearby computer screen read,  
"RUNNING DIAGNOSTICS...

ENTITY: CHEETAWOLF EAGLEHAWK; FIRMWARE VERSION: 18.32.26  
CURRENT PROCESS: CENTRAL COMPUTER; WING CONTROLLER  
CURRENT PROCESS COMPLETION: 59%  
TOTAL COMPLETION 2.6%  
E.T.T.C.: 5 HOURS"

Cheetabadger left and went to a hangar, where 3 GreyWolves were. They looked creepy, as their engines, windows, access panels, and internal parts had all been taken out, leaving a hollow carbon-fiber shell with landing gear. Cheetabadger clambered up the landing gear, and looked in the belly of the aircraft. These were clearly hand-assembled, because on the floor were markings, such as,  
RAG, PRIMARY (18662)  
LN FUELTANK, SECONDARY, (13286)  
LEFT-OUTER ENGINE CONTROLLER (26248)  
Each marking had an outline, supposedly for where the primary RAG, fuel tank, or engine controller would mount. The part numbers next to the part name made no sense to Cheetabadger. However, near the tail, on a small mounting plate, he saw a metal data plate, with "Originally Designed by Cheetawolf EagleHawk" engraved into it. Cheetabadger already missed his friend, so he decided to take his anger out on the aircraft. He found a circular saw, a sledgehammer, and an acetylene torch in a corner of the hangar, next to a pile of scrap steel and carbon-fiber.  
This was gonna be fun.  
All throughout the testing facility, smashing, crashing, and explosions rang loud. Cheetabadger cut off one of the landing gear after weakening everything to its absolute minimum. The whole aircraft fell down and imploded into itself, the wings collapsing at the weakened points, the fuselage imploding, and the other landing gear shattering with one deafening explosive _CRASH!_ WolfCraft technicians ran to the scene. The one who found Cheetawolf yelled, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"  
Cheetabadger replied, "I'm just destroying these retired aircraft like you told me to!"  
The technician replied angrily, "YOU'VE GOT THE WRONG HANGAR! THESE AIRCRAFT ARE BEING _BUILT!_ THE NEXT HANGAR TO THE RIGHT IS RETIRED AIRCRAFT!"  
"Whoops..."  
"JUST DON'T BREAK ANYTHING ELSE HERE, AND YOU WON'T NEED TO REPAY US THE 130,00 CAPS FOR THE AIRCRAFT!"  
Cheetabadger hastily left and went to the next hangar to the right. These 4 aircraft were a bit more interesting. They still had the engines and everything mounted. Cheetabadger got an idea and went to the cockpits of all four, but they had already removed the control panels, batteries, fuel tanks and flight computers. No joyrides for Cheetabadger, unfortunately. However, Cheetabadger did ask a passing technician if he could take what he wanted, and the technician gave him a failed parts list, logging each part in the four aircraft that failed QC, and those were the parts he could take.  
He looked at the parts list.  
AIRCRAFT #160: Secondary RAG, Right-Inner Engine Controller  
AIRCRAFT #161: Left-Inner Propeller Blade Pitch Controller  
AIRCRAFT #162: Flight Computer Processor  
AIRCRAFT #163: Entire Aircraft(Structural Defect in Left Wing)

Cheetabadger simply destroyed all the aircraft in various ways, from blowtorching the RAG's to how he destroyed the one being built. it took all day and night, but he was proud of the smoldering pile of broken bits that was left behind. However, Cheetabadger found a strange door reading "DO NOT ENTER; USE OF LETHAL FORCE AUTHORIZED IN THIS AREA" on it in the hangar. He broke it down with the sledgehammer, and the walls inside were plastered with hundreds of failed designs, some of them incomplete, others stained with coffee, ink or hydraulic fluid, and still others were scribbled out or had "FAILED" or "DISCONTINUED" stamped on them in red ink. All of the designs were signed by Cheetawolf.  
Some of them were very intuitive, like a failed design for an electric personal aircraft called the ShadowWolf, and others were just plain bizarre, such as a ludicrous design for some kind of flying tank called the GreyTortiose. However, a manilla folder caught Cheetabadger's eye. on the front read  
"PROJECT W.I.N.G.; DESIGNS, RESEARCH, AND SIMULATION DATA (PROJECT SUSPENDED)". The envelope was also signed by Cheetawolf. Inside the envelope was an amazing sight. Project W.I.N.G. was an attempt to do the impossible- implant biomechanical wings into human beings. The envelope was stuffed full of charts, wing designs, and, fortunately, more naked-lady installation configurations. The project had apparently been suspended due to financial issues and what was left of the Geneva Convention. Suddenly, a technician yelled, "HEY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! THAT AREA IS STRICTLY OFF-LIMITS! GET OUT NOW OR I WILL SHOOT TO KILL!" Cheetabadger picked up the envelope, hid it in his armor, and ran back to Cheetawolf's office. Cheetawolf wasn't there. Cheetabadger went to the manufacturing room, where Cheetawolf was getting his wings fixed up. Three technicians were working together, one readying a new carbon-fiber support rod, one removing a shattered rod, and one keeping an eye on Cheetawolf via his computer, which was displaying its status on a laptop in the room. Cheetabadger picked up the check-in slip to the hotel that had been placed on Cheetawolf's desk, and went to sleep in the fairly high-end hotel. The next day, he came back to Cheetawolf getting his firmware updated. It was almost finished, so he would wake up soon, in about five minutes, according to the computer. Cheetabadger went out, got a bite to eat, and when he came back, Cheetawolf had some kind of electrode helmet thing on his head, and the computer read:  
EXTRACTING AURA AND ARCHIVING BRAIN DATA...

Cheetabadger freaked out and was about to rip the cords out of the computer, but a technician ran in. He yelled,  
"STOP! If you unplug that, he is guaranteed to die at this point! Upon his request, we're using him to test out an experimental procedure: Transferring a human's data into a robot counterpart. If this is successful, we can make your friend nearly invincible. Of course, if it fails he will die, but we've got a 93% chance of success here."  
"So... What you're saying is that you're going to turn Cheetawolf into a robot?"  
"Essentially, yes."  
"I'm all for this, but will he behave any differently, or will there be any other issues?"  
"Well, the only changes will be positive, and his personality won't change a bit. He may not rely on you as much, but he will still be your friend."  
"That's what I wanted to hear. How long until this is finish-"  
Just then, the computer beeped and ejected 3 hard drives, one stuffed full of Cheetawolf's personality and critical operating system data and the other 2 for memory and diagnostics logging. Then, another technician wheeled out something rather creepy: an exact robotic replica of Cheetawolf. There was one major difference though, the robot had wolf's ears on its head, like some kind of freaky robotic Anime character. The technician inserted the two hard drives into a panel in Cheetawolf's chest, and pressed a button next to where the hard drives slotted in. Fans inside "Cheetawolf 2.0" spun up loudly, then spun back down. lots of beeps and clicks came out of his open panels as he initialized all of his systems. All this went on for about 5 minutes, and then the technicians closed all of his panels, silencing the noises. Cheetawolf 2.0 opened his eyes and looked around. He said, in an exact copy of Cheetawolf 1.0's voice that didn't even sound computerized, "Cheetabadger, I present you: ME, reduxed!" Cheetawolf 2.0 looked at the corpse of his former mortal self, then back at a worried Cheetabadger. "It's okay, _this_ is me now. I'm still with you, Cheetabadger." Cheetawolf placed a motorized hand on Cheetabadger's shoulder. "Anyway, thanks for the overhaul! I really needed it."  
"Don't mention it!" a faraway technician yelled back at Cheetawolf.  
The two of them walked out together. Cheetabadger glanced at Cheetawolf, and asked, "Cheetawolf, what's with the ears, and why are you barefoot? It's sort of creepy."  
"Well, those are now essential for my operation. The ears are air vents for cooling, and my feet play a role in tracking and cooling, as well."  
"So what else do you have, jet engines and machine guns?" Cheetabadger jokingly asked.  
"As a matter of fact, I do." Cheetawolf's arms opened up, revealing a small barrel connected to some mechanical things inside his arm, and his sides opened up, revealing 2 miniature GreyCheetah engines. "I can hit mach 5 and shoot at 100 rounds a second with these."  
Cheetabadger's jaw dropped.  
"What else can you do?!"  
Cheetawolf pulled out what looked like something between an iPod touch and an iPad from a slot in his pack. "This is my controller. You can manually control me, and get a video feed from _my_ eyes with this. Just don't go screwing with my system settings, you can really mess me up that way."  
"Hey, Cheetawolf, what's 'ARI'?" Cheetabadger asked, pointing at an icon on the screen of the controller.  
"ARI stands for Aura-Reflective Imaging. it's my form of radar, and it can pick up a mouse from 100 miles away. it can refresh at up to 16,000 times a second, while my vision refreshes at about 1.2 million FPS."  
"Wow, impressive. Hey Cheetawolf, can I control you verbally?"  
"Yes, you can. just tell me, 'Chetawolf, command' and then tell me what you want me to do. Say 'End String' to set me back to just being me. I might not do it if it's something that's just plain stupid, like requesting me to kill civilians or allies."  
"Cheetawolf, command! see if you can use ARI to locate the nearest topless beach!"  
Something spun up inside Cheetawolf, and the controller read:  
_INITIALIZING RAG..._  
_SEARCHING FOR:_  
CAT:HMN-FM; CLT:NSHT/SHS; GRP:100; LOC:BCH...  
A couple of seconds later, a map appeared on the controller showing a nearby beach.  
"Cheetawolf, I don't know what I'd do without you."  
"Running simulations... Without me, you would have an approximately 62.236% chance of perishing." said Cheetawolf now in his default and creepy robotic voice.  
"Whoops. End string."  
Cheetawolf paused for a second, and then said, "Did you just use me to search for a topless beach?!"  
"Yes... What's your problem?"  
"Well, it's that..."  
"Hey, you can record pictures and video from your point of view?! That will _really_ come in handy at the beach!"  
"... As I was saying, my programming prevents me from recording anything that isn't going to be useful to an investigation, or isn't some form of evidence or proof. I can override this, but not for your perverted intentions."  
"Screw you! What else can you do?"  
"Well, I no longer have to eat, but I can eat and convert it to power for battery charging, and I can just charge myself by lying in the sun with my wings open, or use a wall outlet. I can run for three weeks on a 4-hour sun charge, and drinking anything is minimally required, unless my coolant runs low."  
"So... What can you do?"  
"I'd sigh, but that sound file isn't installed. Anyway, let's just get going."  
"Can you fly me to wherever we're going?"  
"My wings still cannot support you, unfortunately. I can fly up to 100 more pounds of equipment, though."  
"Well, that sucks. Say, you can mark _any_ location on your map, right?"  
"Yes."  
"Mark a general store or bar, whichever is closer. I want some beer. You can drink alcohol now, right?"  
"There's a bar about a mile south-southeast. I've put it on the map. And yes, I can drink alcohol, but I only retain the water for coolant or for my onboard potable water supply. The alcohol is either burned by my engines or dumped when I flush my coolant system."  
"Wow. TMI. Anyway, I found this strange file in a room where the aircraft are stored." Cheetabadger presented the data for Project W.I.N.G. to Cheetawolf.  
"_HOW DID YOU GET THAT?! _THAT WAS NEVER MEANT TO BE SEEN BY ANYONE ELSE!"  
"Sorry..."  
"Well, I might as well spill the beans... After I was given the gift of flight, I started project WING to see if I could give it to just about everyone else. However, what was left of the Geneva Convention stopped it at every point, and our constant battle with them drained the project's budget. The project will remain on hold indefinitely, or until we get enough funds again."  
"Well, I could help you with the 'G.C.', Cheetawolf."  
"Wait, you're not thinking..."  
"Yep, that's right. We're going install a set of your wings on me. Do you know where WolfCraft's Custom Design, Installation and Testing headquarters is? if so, mark it on your map thing."  
"Um... it is situated over in Europe. It's on the map, but it's too far away to see on that small of a screen. if you want, I've got a GreyWolf of my own ready to fly. I could get you there in 8 hours."  
"Good, let's go!"  
As Cheetawolf's mint-condition custom GreyWolf took off from the testing runway with a deafening roar, Cheetabadger was excited at the fact that they may be going on a quest to take over the world, or at least fly over it. Inside the GreyWolf, Cheetawolf set the autopilot to the location on his map, and went back to Cheetabadger, who was gazing out a window at the passing nuclear clouds. Luckily, the GreyWolf was shielded from such radiation.  
"Well, we've got an 8-hour flight ahead of us. You might as well get some sleep, Cheetabadger. You are probably going to need it. I will connect myself to the aircraft's auxiliary power to charge up, too. Bathrooms are in the back and front, and the food is in the in-built refrigerator in the back wall. And yes, I did stock plenty of whiskey, beer, twinkies and bacon."  
Cheetabadger leaned back in his reclining bed/seat thing, and went to sleep almost instantly.  
In the next couple of hours, Cheetabadger stuffed his face, took a dump, and was mesmerized at the vapor trail coming out of the GreyWolf's four 200,000 HP counter-rotating Chakra-Combustion turboprop engines. Chakra-Combustion was a new technology developed by WolfCraft by killing the demons that plagued the land and extracting their chakra, or life force, putting it in the aircraft's fuel tank, and mixing it with liquid nitrogen inside the engine to get an explosive reaction that direct-drives the aircraft's propellers. They had to be 200,000 HP because the aircraft was literally made out of concrete; there was an inch of concrete between the inner and outer walls of the aircraft to absorb radiation and dissipate anti-aircraft fire if worst came to worst. However, the GreyWolf was still very agile, and could climb vertically at half the speed of sound at full throttle, so the engines had plenty of power to spare. Cheetabadger decided to go back to sleep. He awoke to Cheetawolf announcing on the aircraft's intercom, "Wake up, Cheetabadger, we'll be landing in ten minutes!" Cheetabadger watched as the aircraft steeply dove towards its destination, the air brakes on and the engines applying slight reverse thrust to keep the heavy aircraft's airspeed stable. Cheetawolf skillfully guided the aircraft onto the runway, and Cheetabadger couldn't even feel the bump, but he could feel what came next. Cheetawolf slammed on the brakes and threw the engines into full reverse, throwing the unbuckled Cheetabadger out of his seat and onto the cabin floor, where he skidded across the floor into the locked door to the cockpit. The aircraft went from 250 MPH down to 0 MPH in around five seconds, stopping inches from the testing facility with a loud hiss from the hybrid hydraulic-magnetic antilock braking system. As Cheetabadger got up, Cheetawolf walked up to him and said, "Sorry about that. We need a lot of power to slow down on a runway this short."  
"No shit, sherlock."  
They stepped out of Cheetawolf's aircraft to a raging snowstorm.  
"This must be a nuclear winter." said Cheetawolf.  
"Man, I'm freezing! how can even a robot like you stand up to this!?"  
"I'm designed for the cold. the lower the temperature, the faster my CPU, or brain in your terms, can work."  
You can't possibly be _designed_ for _this _kind of cold! I mean, if the winds are like this, how would you walk around? You's just slide around and fall on your face."  
"_This_ is where another design element comes in." Cheetawolf lifted up one of his feet, which now had its sole covered in small, retractable spikes.  
"You get creepier every minute, don't you?" said Cheetabadger.  
"Not really. Anyway, the headquarters is right over there, according to ARI." Cheetawolf pointed into the whiteout.  
They trudged through the deep snow, Cheetawolf using his jet engines to blast away some of it and pull out Cheetabadger when he got stuck or fell in. In about ten minutes, they had walked the 300 feet to the building's entrance. They walked in, and Cheetabadger breathed in a breath of the warm, non-subzero air inside the facility. Cheetawolf retracted his spikes, stopping the somewhat-irritating scraping sounds as he walked across the tile floor to the secondary manager's office. Cheetawolf knocked on the door. a voice behind the door said, "Who is it?"  
"It's Cheetawolf, the General Manager. I've got a friend with me, too. Please let him in as well."  
The door opened, revealing a slender man (Who wasn't super-scary and doesn't teleport everywhere, mind you) who, despite looking thin as a twig, seemed in very good health.  
"Well, well, if it isn't the boss himself. Good to see you, Cheetawolf. Who is your friend, and why is he holding the data to Project W.I.N.G.?"  
"Oh, that's Cheetabadger. I've recruited him as a test subject for Project W.I.N.G."  
"That's good. We've just finished our latest prototype. We call it the WolfCraft Wing Model QSM-ICF-1TC-BEC"  
"I've heard of that one being tested recently, and it seems like a good fit for him." said Cheetawolf.  
"Good. Let's let your friend approve of the design, though."  
Cheetabadger interrupted, "I just have one question, what does the model number mean?"  
"Oh, that's second-nature after your third year at WolfCraft." Cheetawolf replied. "it decodes into:  
QSM for Quad-Sector; Motor-Driven, or four separate electric motor-driven wings,  
ICF for Individual Control; Flap, each wing can be individually controlled, flapping is the primary source of propulsion,  
1TC for One Ton Capacity, these can lift a ton from a standing takeoff,  
and BEC for Bio-Energy Charged, the wings recharge themselves while you sleep.  
Does that answer your question?"  
Cheetabadger sat there scratching his head and looking like his brain was about to explode.  
Then he spoke. "Well, at least I know _these_ can support my weight. Anyway, let's see the wings."  
Cheetawolf told Cheetabadger, "I dont have them on me yet, but I'm sure Steve could get get you a concept sketch."  
Steve, the thin secondary manager, rummaged around in a filing cabinet and came back with a concept sketch of the final design. Cheetabadger looked at it for a few seconds. He said, "Very interesting. I'll take them! How much?" Cheetabadger got his wallet ready.  
Steve chuckled a bit and told him, "As a volunteer, you get installation for free."  
Cheetabadger giggled like a giddy little school girl when he realized he would be able to fly in 24 hours.  
"See you after the surgery. I'll be waiting in standby in Steve's office. if either of you need to wake me, pull on my right ear. That should have me going at 100% in half a second." said Cheetawolf.  
"Noted!" replied Cheetabadger.  
Cheetawolf then sat down into a chair and shut down, essentially temporarily dying, and remaining dead until he was woken up via his ear.  
Cheetabadger was whisked off to the custom installation facility.  
The next morning, Cheetawolf awoke to Cheetabadger tugging on his ear. Cheetabadger had the wings expanded and unfurled, and they were a perfect fit.  
"They look good on you." said Cheetawolf.  
"When they are open, I'm _really_ top-heavy." replied Cheetabadger.  
"That's normal; the wings need a much higher center of gravity to operate correctly. You should get used to it in a couple of days. Now, the snow has stopped outside based on ARI, so let's test them out!"  
"But... I have no idea how to use them..."  
"Oh, I can teach you in ten minutes with this!"  
Cheetawolf pulled out a small enclosed box with an ARI module inside it. the box interfaced with the wings' flight computer, or FCP, and gave Cheetawolf real-time data streams from them and also let him remotely control them.  
"Let's go outside."  
"So", said Cheetawolf, "I think you should start with a running takeoff and some gliding. Hold this cable."  
Cheetabadger picked up a bit of steel cable that was at his feet. Cheetawolf picked up the other end.  
"So, how will this work?" asked Cheetabadger.  
"Here, just start running when it comes up on your wings' HUD."  
Cheetabadger loved the fact that he now had a HUD of his very own to work with.  
However, that admiration turned to horror when Cheetawolf opened his own wings and spun up his jet engines.  
"Uh... Cheetawolf, are you sure this is safe?" Cheetabadger yelled over the spooling-up GreyCheetah engines.  
Cheetawolf kneeled down and wound up the engines to full throttle, generating that trademark GreyCheetah howl that meant that ludicrous speed was about to commence. Cheetabadger's HUD flashed "Prompt: RUN!", and then Cheetawolf broke into a sprint, dragging Cheetabadger along for the ride, Cheetawolf's 5,000 HP engines rapidly accelerated the pair to 50, 75, 150 MPH! Then, Cheetawolf took control of Cheetabadger's wings, and they caught the air, sending him leaping into the sky. Cheetabadger's HUD flashed- "Prompt- Let Go Of Cable; Just Glide And Get Used To Your New Wings". Cheetabadger let go, and flying simply came natural to him. within 30 seconds, he was flapping, diving, doing loop-the-loops, and just messing around in the air. After a couple of hours, Cheetawolf landed gracefully on his feet, as his engines were low on fuel. He encouraged Cheetabadger to do the same.  
Cheetabadger's landing wasn't quite as graceful. He sort of did a 140-MPH belly flop, using his armor as landing gear. Steve applauded.  
"That was awesome! Such a shame I need to give them back, though." said Cheetabadger.  
Steve said, "Oh, don't worry, that's a permanent installation! Those wings are yours to keep."  
Cheetabadger went and bear-hugged Steve, and Cheetawolf had to hit Cheetabadger with 150 Kv from his built-in stun gun just to get him off.  
"Let's go get some drinks to celebrate!" Cheetabadger cheerfully stated.  
"Just remember, You can't drink as much as you want anymore. The FCP is cooled by your blood, and alcohol can corrode the coolant lines." said Cheetawolf.  
"...Wait, WHAT?! ARE YOU SHITTING ME?!"  
"...Yeah, sorry I didn't tell you about that earlier. I was assuming you would know that. After all, I was actually Project W.I.N.G.'s first guinea pig."  
"Well, how much can I drink?"  
"I think in the specs it said a maximum of 1 gallon of whiskey or an equivalent per day for this model."  
"Oh, that's no problem. not even _I _drink that much. Hey Cheetawolf, use ARI to pick out the best bar in a 20-mile radius at our current position. Sort it by how many people are there right now. Put any bars with stripper poles at the top of the list, and mark them red on the map."  
"I could go for a bit of R-and-R myself. Hang on, just a second."  
The map popped up on Cheetawolf's controller. three locations were dotted. One of them was red, meaning it was marked as a strip club, and the other two were blue, marking standard bars.  
"We'll get better results back in the USA." said Cheetawolf  
"No fucking way am I flying back 8 hours for a drink! Let's go to the red one."  
The pair spread their wings and took to the sky. In the air, Cheetabadger followed Cheetawolf, who was taking the most direct path to their destination. The two silently touched down behind the club and folded their wings before anyone could notice. Cheetabadger was still getting used to his wings, and couldn't quite understand how to fold them up, as it was not automatic; you had to move the motors in sequence with the right timing.  
"Dammit, how do you fold these up?" asked a frustrated Cheetabadger, who was busy doing everything wrong and threatening to damage the mechanisms in the wings.  
"Hang on, you'll break something doing that. Here, I can manually fold them up." Cheetawolf grabbed the wings and twisted them backwards until a catch popped loose inside, and then let go. The wings snapped into their folded position perfectly.  
"...Yeah, thanks." said an embarrassed Cheetabadger.  
The two walked into the bar, where a half-naked girl was busy doing her thing on the steel pole. Cheetabadger reached for the controller, but was disgusted when there was a notification on the screen:  
"NOTICE: IMAGE AND VIDEO RECORDING TEMPORARILY DISABLED.  
SHORT-TERM HARD DISK OFF."  
"Man, Cheetawolf, you ruin all the fun!"  
Cheetawolf went to the bar, looking for some cheap fuel for his jet engines.  
"Yeah, I'll have ten gallons of whiskey." said Cheetawolf, changing his voice to sound casual and slightly drunk.  
"_What?! TEN GALLONS?!_"  
"Yeah, I'm launching a massive party back at my place in the USA. I heard this place has the best whiskey in Europe."  
"How did you get here?"  
"Oh, I have my ways."  
"Well, that'll be 330 Caps for that."  
"Man, the price of that stuff sure has gone up!"  
"Sorry, I don't regulate it. So, do you have the cash or what? If not, get out."  
Cheetawolf got out his pack and painstakingly counted out 330 caps for his fuel. Then he took the ten milk jugs full of the ludicrously-expensive fuel and went out back. Cheetabadger followed. Cheetawolf opened a small cover on his side to reveal a plastic tube. He stuck the tube in the jugs of fuel and turned on a pump inside him, sucking all the whiskey into internal fuel tanks for later use.  
"You could have given some of that to me..." Cheetabadger moaned sadly.  
"Sorry, you have to pay for your own stuff just as I need pay for mine. Anyway, have you drank your fill yet? I'm ready to head back. We still need to find out about that Mr. Fox."  
"Nope, I'm not done drinking yet. Let's head back inside. Maybe someone here knows about him."  
"Alright, let's head back in."  
The pair headed back into the bar and had a good time for a few more hours, and soon it was midnight. Cheetawolf walked out, Cheetabadger trying with all his might to stay on his feet not far behind.  
"You think you can make it back to the GreyWolf, or do you want me to fly it here?" asked Cheetawolf to his drunken friend.  
"phy et hurr." said Cheetabadger.  
"Alright, this should only take ten minutes."  
Cheetawolf sped off into the night sky, jet engines ablaze.  
Soon, a deafening roar passed over the bar. A 100-MPH gust of wind blasted the bar, along with dust thrown up by the GreyWolf's engines. Everyone ran out to see what had happened. They all saw a black aircraft, landing lights on, taxiing around the parking lot, and stopping in front of Cheetabadger. As its propellers spun down, Cheetawolf exited the aircraft, picked up Cheetabadger, and carried him into the aircraft. Then Cheetawolf turned the aircraft around, and blasted all the bar patrons off their feet with the 700-MPH full-throttle prop wash from his aircraft's combined 800,000 HP engines. Inside the aircraft, Cheetabadger stumbled to the bathroom and proceeded to puke his brains out for a whole half-hour. Cheetawolf decided to record a video of that, just to show Cheetabadger just how wasted he was once he recovered from what may be the world's worst hangover.  
Surprisingly, Cheetabadger sobered up and got over the hangover within the 8-hour flight. This time, the landing wasn't as painful, as this runway was much longer. Cheetawolf's aircraft pulled up to a building, and a massive elevator took it down into an underground hangar.  
"So, where are we?" asked Cheetabadger once they exited the aircraft.  
"This is my home. It's maintained by WolfCraft, and it's also sort of a testing facility for household appliances developed by them."  
They walked up a flight of stairs to the negative first floor, which would be a basement in most other homes. in the case of Cheetawolf's place, it was a fallout shelter, stocked with food, water, and a backup generator. "This floor can easily support 100 people for two years in the event of another nuclear attack. A lot of other assassins live in this area, and they occasionally stop by."  
"Sure, that's cool and all, but where's the booze?"  
"I already told you, I don't drink. I think you've had enough recently, though." Cheetawolf played back the video he took. Cheetabadger burst out laughing.  
"Anyway, want to hang out here? I need to some research on this Mr. Fox."  
Cheetawolf walked into another room filled with computers, all linked together to a massive holographic screen. "You see, I am, being essentially chief at the world's largest company, have a few people after me. WolfCraft built this place to keep one step ahead of them. Under the ground here is a massive, multi-billion-watt ARI system, capable of tracking every single person in the world at 150,000 refreshes a second. My ARI system, in comparison, is only 1/8 of a watt. Here, I'll start it up." Cheetawolf flipped a switch, and a massive, 3 million HP jet engine in a nearby room spun up a 200-foot long RAG, or Rotary Aura Generator, which drives the ARI system. The computer almost instantly came up with a map of the world, speckled with dots, each dot representing around 10,000 people.  
Cheetawolf said, "Search worldwide for entities, 'Mr. Fox', category; human, any frequency." to the computer, and in a couple of seconds, the screen split into 100 smaller screens, each showing a person's location on the world, and each of their names was Mr. Fox.  
"Looks like you need to narrow the search a bit more, buddy." said Cheetabadger over the whirring RAG in the next room over.  
"This thing's got connections to every server in the world, so I could probably narrow the search down by his handwriting. You've still got that note from Kira, right?" said Cheetawolf.  
"RIght here!" Cheetabadger said as he pulled out the note.  
Cheetawolf placed the note into a slot on the computer, and the computer checked it. it came back with the results. One person came up as a result:  
Loaded handwriting match result(s).  
Results Retrieved From:  
-ARI Module  
-Cheetah Clan Server  
-CIA handwriting Recognition System (USA)

Entity- Mr. Fred Fox (CAT:HMN)  
Aura Frequency 182.28693 AFU (Locked)  
Current Location- Former Detroit, Michigan; Ruins of Henry Ford Museum  
Movement- 2.3 MPH SSE  
Predicted Path- Former Ford Motor Co HQ; Now WolfCraft Equipment Custom Electronics Manufacturing Division (Path Retrieved From Inbuilt SEC)  
Occupation- N/A

(Current ARI Refresh Rate- 146,342 Refreshes/sec)  
(RAG= 120 Degrees F; 12% Load; Cooling System Filter #6 May Need Replacement.)

Cheetabadger said, after looking at the screen, "Impressive machine. Say, what's this 'Cheetah Clan Server'? I've heard alot about it before."  
CHeetawolf replied, "You see, I and a bunch of other elite assassins have formed sort of a gang, an alias, if you will, that we call Cheetah Clan. I am Cheetah Clan's leader. We keep violence under control in the US, and we're also scattered all over the world. My house is the heart and brain of the clan, and every Cheetah Clan computer taps into mine, and I tap into theirs. The collective data of all the other clan computers has been named the Cheetah Clan Server to make things a bit less confusing."  
"Okay, so basically, you're a _good_ mastermind who helps keep criminals off the street."  
"Yes, precisely. Also, based on your name, you were probably once in the clan, as well. Here' let's search the clan registry."  
Cheetawolf searched the registry, but the name Cheetabadger wasn't taken.  
"Oh, I picked the name Cheetabadger because it has a nice ring to it, not because I'm part of your... community, I'll call it." Cheetabadger said to a puzzled Cheetawolf.  
"That makes more sense. Want to join?" Cheetawolf asked.  
"Do you have a job opening for 'That One Guy Who Kills Anything That Moves'?"  
"There's an opening for Explosives Manager and Professional Anti-Sniper, will either of those work for you?"  
"Can I take both?"  
"Sure, I guess. I'll enter you into the registry. Step into that room over there, I can use ARI to get all of your personal information within ten seconds." Cheetawolf said as he pointed to sort of a glass cylinder that looked like some kind of teleporter.  
Cheetabadger stepped into the glass room, and the outer glass, which was essentially an LCD screen, blacked out everything inside. However, three slender pillars, each lined with LED's which were currently shining blue, slowly spun around for a few seconds, but then stopped and flashed red. Cheetawolf came in over an intercom:  
"Cheetabadger, your armor is blocking the signals from the ARI module. I need you to take off your armor for this to work."  
Cheetabadger stepped out, took off his armor, revealing a large,muscular frame, and stepped back into the giant ARI module. This time, the LED's glowed white, and started spinning up to 8,000 RPM as the whine of a smaller RAG was heard in the background. then, loud clicking noises rang out as the ARI module refreshed at precise points during rotation, and then it was over. the screen glass became transparent, and the module stopped spinning. Cheetabadger put his armor back on, and went to Cheetawolf's massive computer to see the results. Every last bit of data about him was listed, even some things _he_ didn't even know.  
Cheetawolf approached him and asked, "Is this data correct?"  
"Oh, yeah, it is. Also, I've nearly forgotten, when will my shotgun be ready?"  
"Oh, yeah. I've had that sent over to WolfCraft's Custom Design Division. They should take care of it. I'll get a notification when it's done."  
"Okay. As long as it gets done eventually, I'm fine with it." Then, Cheetabadger whipped out Cheetawolf's controller and started scrolling through Cheetawolf's various system options.  
"Cheetabadger, I told you not to связывайся с моей настройки." said Cheetawolf, Cheetabadger finding the language options mid-sentence.  
"Whoops..."  
"Просто прекратите это и изменить свои настройки обратно, пожалуйста."  
"Here, let's reset that." Cheetabadger pressed the reset button on the controller. However, that button reset Cheetawolf's operating system, along with his settings. Cheetawolf collapsed and died for a couple seconds, but then got back up and said,  
"As I told you, Please don't mess with my settings. Also, keep you hand away from that reset switch unless something goes seriously wrong with my operating system."  
"Okay. Sorry about that..."  
"Oh, it's fine. Nothing was damaged... this time."  
Cheetawolf and Cheetabadger left Cheetawolf's Fort Knox of a house, and walked around the neighborhood. Some people say that Cheetah Clan keeps this place the safest city in the country now.  
"Hold on, I want to try something!" said Cheetabadger.  
Cheetawolf stopped. "What is it?"  
"Can your ARI system synchronize to my HUD? I want to see what it's like to see through walls like you say you can."  
Cheetabadger's HUD had a little icon appear in the upper-right, which said, "ARISync: On", and Cheetabadger then saw many glowing figures inside the building next to them. As he moved his head, the figures moved in real-time with it. Then it disappeared.  
Cheetawolf spoke. "Let's head over to Michigan to see where Mr. Fox is. I don't think we need the GreyWolf for this one."  
They both spread their wings and took to the sky, Cheetabadger struggling to keep up with Cheetawolf, even with Cheetawolf's jet engines at only 5% power, barely enough to hover.  
"Man, Cheetawolf, can you slow down? I don't have those fancy 'GreyCheater' engines like you do.", Cheetabadger groaned.  
"Here. Grab my ankles, fold your wings, and hold on tight. We're going to mach 3."  
"You're kidding... right?"  
"Nope."  
Cheetabadger grabbed on, and Cheetawolf floored it before his wings had to take on all of Cheetabadger's weight. The acceleration practically ripped Cheetabadger's arms off. The conical shock wave formed around the two, and slowly moved behind Cheetabadger. Cheetawolf had his wings open just a sliver; that was all the lift he needed at these speeds. Cheetawolf had his arms in a certain position that forced an updraft against Cheetabadger, keeping him in the air as well. After ten minutes of white-knuckle flying, Cheetawolf slowed his engines and descended. After a prompt from his HUD, Cheetabadger let go, unfolded his wings, and touched down on his armor. Cheetawolf reversed his engines and gracefully landed again. They were in Michigan. However, Mr. Fox's ARI signature was blazing by at a speed so fast that even at 60,000 refreshes a second, Cheetawolf could barely catch it.  
Cheetabadger looked up and said, "Hey, Cheetawolf, isn't that the-"  
"GreyCheetah? Shit!" concluded Cheetawolf.  
Yep, that's right. Mr. Fox had gotten ahold of a WolfCraft GreyCheetah, capable of hitting mach 16 at full throttle.  
"This is not good." said Cheetawolf. "I've got a modified GreyCheetah of my own that can hit mach 20, but it's back at my place. Keep your eye on him, but DON'T ENGAGE HIM! I'll be back soon."  
Cheetawolf flew off, unnoticed by the GreyCheetah, thanks to Cheetawolf's special coating on his wings.  
In a few minutes, Cheetawolf's GreyCheetah touched down near Cheetabadger, and he boarded.  
"Now, strap in! This thing's got the power of five GreyWolves behind it! I'll dial it down just enough so you don't black out, but you're going to feel 3 tons heavier in a minute." said Cheetawolf as he spooled up the GreyCheetah's five Chakra-Combustion high-efficiency ducted-fan engines.  
Then, Cheetawolf hit the aircraft's computer with a request for 80% throttle, and the engines obeyed instantly, smashing Cheetabadger into his seat with, indeed, three tons worth of G's. The aircraft went vertical at mach 5 and leveled out at 30,000 feet. Cheetawolf initialized the aircraft's weapon systems, and slim, aerodynamic rocket launchers opened up out of the wings of the GreyCheetah, which was blazing along at mach 16 as well and rapidly approaching Mr. Fox. Cheetawolf was hoping to intimidate Mr. Fox out of the sky, but it looks like that wasn't happening anytime soon. He could only hope that Mr. Fox's GreyCheetah's computer held some critical information. Cheetawolf opened the little cover over the fire button on the weapon controller, and launched an aura-seeking missile out at mach 18, locked on to Mr. Fox's aura frequency. The missile tore through the enemy GreyCheetah like a falling 120-ton weight tears through a stretched sheet of wet 1-ply toilet paper. Cheetawolf pulled a hard right turn in full reverse to avoid the flying debris, and then landed his aircraft, with Cheetabadger finally releasing his white-knuckle grip on the seat in front of him. However, Cheetawolf still spun the engines back up to "drive" his aircraft to where he predicted the flight computer, or FCP, of Mr. Fox's aircraft would have landed. Cheetabadger didn't mind taxiing around at 15 MPH, but anything faster in this aircraft just scared him crapless. Cheetawolf stopped the aircraft, and exited with Cheetabadger, a spinning-down engine to their right. Cheetawolf retrieved the FCP of Mr. Fox's aircraft, and took it back into the aircraft. He connected it onto a hidden port under the controls that read "Auxiliary FCP". Instantly, Cheetawolf's GreyCheetah came back to life, but in a whole different way. Sensing a new FCP, the entire aircraft ran a self-diagnostic cycle, running all the hydraulic pumps, electrical systems, and essentially everything connected to the GreyCheetah in sequence, generating a symphony of whirs, clicks, and beeps. All the lights in the aircraft flickered in sort of a wave as each LED light driver was checked for continuity, resistance, and inductance by the aircraft's secondary FCP. Finally, the diagnostics concluded, and everything went back to functioning normally. The newly-acquired FCP seemed to be operating just as it should. However, there was critical data on this FCP, and doing anything more could set off the FCP's built-in self-destruct program. Cheetawolf promptly shut down his aircraft and removed the FCP before it could commit suicide.

He placed it in an explosion-resistant box in a storage compartment in his aircraft and blasted back off towards his home.

...And here's where I left off. Like I said, extensions and ideas would be nice, and if i use yours, credit will be given where it is due.


End file.
